


The Ivy Mirror

by werewolfsaz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: M/M, Touching Different Dimensions, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfsaz/pseuds/werewolfsaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the reflections of the fire light, ghostly figures moved under the glass</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I See You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babyklingon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=babyklingon), [asparagusmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/gifts).



> A story for the lovely babyklingon, hope this is what you wanted =)  
> Comments keep me sane in this sea of craziness so please do  
> Enjoy

Watson watched fondly as Holmes examined his present with his magnifying glass, delighted little noises coming from him as he found special features.  
"It's wonderful, Watson. Where did you get it?"  
"A patient gave it to me as a thank you. He didn't know it's age or maker, said it was a bit of a mystery. I thought it would keep your interest until your next case."  
"You are such a darling man," Holmes stated, dropping a kiss on his lover's lips. "This shall entertain me admirably."  
He continued his assessment. John quietly admired the full length ebony frame, carved with climbing ivy vines that twisted beautifully around the glass. The leaves were so detailed they looked as though they would move in the breeze. Holmes was crawling around the base of the mirror, muttering to himself. Brushing his fingers down the glass, the doctor startled when the glass rippled. As he watched the glass turned milky, swirling like fog. It solidified into the face of a young blond man with sharp blue eyes. The young man stared open mouthed at Watson, disbelief in his eyes.  
"Holmes..."  
"Seems that there was a date or artist's mark at the bottom here but time as eroded it."  
"Holmes."  
"I'm busy."  
"Holmes!"  
Snapping upright, glaring at Watson with sheer annoyance, Homes' steel grey eyes glittered fiercely.  
"What?"  
"Look!"  
***  
John grinned as his boyfriend inched his way along the frame of the antique mirror. The doctor had picked it up for a bargin after he'd seen Sherlock admiring it. The ebony frame was dusty, the ivy vines collecting the dust and dirt easily. John had no illusions as to who would be cleaning it up. As Sherlock loped off to find his magnifying glass, the blond doctor leant closer to the glass, brushing some of the dirt away with his fingers. The mirror's surface fogged up, eddying like a sluggish breeze stirred it. When th fog cleared a man's face was gazing back at him. It was the face of an older man with salt and pepper hair, greying moustashe, wearing old fashioned clothes, kindly blue eyes staring back at him.  
"If there was ever a maker's signature on here, it was lost long ago.  
"Sherlock, look!"  
The dark haired detective shot to John's side, gaping in disbelief.  
"What the bloody Hell?"  
Moving fast, Sherlock examined the mirror for wires or a receiver, some way that the image could have been transmitted. Nothing. As they stood together in front of the mirror they saw another man join the first. He was slightly taller that the first man, black hair slicked back, steely grey eyes sharp even through the shock on his hawk like face. As Sherlock reached out to touch the glass, the other dark haired man did the same. As quickly as it came, the image vanished.


	2. A Kick in the Right Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes putting the boot in is what it takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if these chapters are short. Life keeps getting in the way but I'll do my best =)  
> Comments keep me going so please feel free to leave as many as you like  
> Enjoy

Sherlock was lost deep in his mind palace, gazing at his reflection in the ebony mirror. He faintly heard John prattling on about bills and heating and how bloody cold he was. Deciding it wasn't important, Sherlock continued to study the mirror, to put all he had learned from examining it together. His mind kept circling back to the images of the two men they had seen. How had that been possible? They had obviously been from another place, their clothes, the surroundings, had all been late Victorian. But how? His thoughts were interrupted when a cushion smacked him in the face. Turning an annoyed glare at John, he growled at his boyfriend.  
"You forgot to pay the sodding heating bill! I had to call Mycroft to take care of it because I'm flat broke. And now the fire won't turn on."  
"No important. You deal with it."  
John glared at his lover, leant back and kicked the fire firmly, a hollow, metallic thud echoing round the flat. He fiddled with the dial for a moment, the fire popped into life as he did. Sherlock blinked in surprise as the reflection of the fire light caused fog to roll across the mirror. As he watched the image of the grey eyed man from last time appeared, staring intently back at him.  
"John! It's working again."  
The blond hurried to his side, clearly amazed by the mirror's strange power. The man with salt and pepper hair was beside his companion now, startled face close to the glass.  
"How does this bastard thing work?" Sherlock snarled.  
"Watch your mouth, young man," the dark haired man snapped. Both sets of men gaped in surprise at being able to hear each other.  
"What is this thing?" John breathed.  
***  
Holmes was huddled under several blankets, glaring at ebony framed mirror as if it had personally offended him. Watson was tinkering with the fire, getting a hearty blaze roaring in the hearth. He turned at Holmes' shocked gasp, seeing the mist covering the surface of the mirror again. Even as he stared the mist cleared, revealing the face of the young, dark haired man. His inky curls were sticking up in all directions, as if he'd been running his fingers through it. His luminous eyes were flashing all around him, studying something intensely. Watson moved next to Holmes, even as the blond man appeared next to the first.  
"How does this bastard thing work?"  
"Watch your mouth, young man," Holmes admonished instantly. Watson felt his mouth drop open as the voice from the mirror came through clearly.  
"What is this thing?" the blond whispered.  
"Who are you?" Watson blurted, studying the men closely. The way they stood close together, shoulders pressed to each other, gave Watson the impression that prehaps they were closer than merely friends.  
"Dr John Watson," the blond replied. "And this is my boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes."  
Holmes drew in a sharp breath, eyes snapping grey fire.  
"That is ludicrous! My name is Sherlock Holmes. And this is my dear friend Dr John Watson. You are lying."  
"No," the pale man claiming to be Sherlock Holmes stated desisively. "We're not. We are looking at you through a ebony mirror carved with ivy vines. How can you see us?"  
"That is not possible," Watson stammered. "We are looking through an ebony mirror carved with ivy vines."  
"Maybe they're a pair?" the other John Watson asked quietly. The other Sherlock frowned at the frame then reached out, touching something.  
"There's a leaf missing from the right side, about a third of the way down."  
Holmes instantly began to search, a concerned frown marring his pale face.  
"There is a missing leaf in the same place here. It's the same mirror. We must..."  
Before Holmes could finish, the mist began to cover the glass again, obscuring the faces of the younger men.  
"No!" Holmes shouted, slamming a hand against the frame. Quickly dousing the fire, he instantly relit it, spinning back to the mirror. Nothing happened. He snarled with frustration. Watson laid a calming hand on his shoulder.  
"Easy, old chap. We found a way to make it work before, we'll do it again."


	3. The Same But Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Similarities they see in each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little love to, hopefully, cheer up babyklingon. Much love to you sweetie.  
> Comments keep me strong  
> Enjoy =)

Stumbling from their bedroom, hair stuck in all directions, wearing only a pair of thin boxers, John made it to the kitchen. Fumbling in the dark for a clean glass (a bit hit and miss in this kitchen) the doctor got himself a drink of water, faintly hearing Sherlock asking for one too. As he shuffled passed the living room he saw a flickering light, illuminating the room.  
"You left the fire on," he grumbled, putting Sherlock's drink down on the bedside table. Wandering back out, idly scratching his stomach, the doctor nearly had a heart attack when he saw the other Sherlock Holmes staring at him from the ivy covered, ebony mirror.  
"Jesus! Cough or something would you?" he snapped. The other man blushed, averting his eyes.  
"I seem to have caught you at an inappropriate time, Wats...Ah, Doctor," Holmes apologised.  
"It's alright, we were in bed." John waved him off, flopping into the chair Sherlock had left in front of the mirror.  
"We? Does your lady wife live with you also?" Holmes asked curiously, steel grey eyes flicking over John, assessing.  
"No, Sherlock and I were in bed. He's my lover."  
The firelight in the other man's room made his blush deep red. He lowered his eyes, long fingers twisting together.  
"Does that make you uncomfortable?" John asked sympathetically.  
"It seems strange to me that men of... certain leanings are able to talk about it so openly where you are. Which is where, by the way?"  
"London. Baker Street to be more percise."  
"Good heavens!" Holmes exclaimed, jerking back, black hair scattering. "We live on Baker Street. How in the world is this possible?"  
John laughed softly, shaking his head.  
"You're asking the wrong man. Sherlock might be more able to help you there."  
Holmes' eyes narrowed, face twisting in a slight frown.  
"It is so odd to hear my name out of your mouth, when I do not know you and it is not me, personally, to who you refer." The dark haired man let his eyes drift over John's body. "My Watson was much like you when he was younger. Strong, well muscled, proud of his body. He still is but now he keeps it for me alone."  
John recognised that smug tone, was oddly warmed by it. His boyfriend had the same tone when he told people they were a couple. A sudden thought struck John.  
"How did you get the mirror to work?"  
Holmes shrugged elegantly. The doctor noticed, for the first time, he was wearing an old fashioned night shirt and a ratty cardigan.  
"I was pacing in front of it, thinking on what I hadn't tried when I bumped it with my hip. The mist covered the glass and then I was looking into your sitting room. What is that thing?"  
Following the direction the other Holmes was pointing to, John spotted the TV. He wasn't sure if telling the man would change the past in some way.  
"It's a....ummm..." As the blond hesitated the foggy swirls began to stream across the glass, obscuring the other man.  
"Oh damn!" Holmes yelled as he vanished. John was left gazing at his own reflection.  
***  
Sherlock was beginning to wonder if taking the mirror apart was the only way to figure out how it worked. But John loved the stupid thing, loved the complex carvings that gathered dust so easily. He was at work until late though. Maybe Sherlock could just remove the back? If he was careful, his beloved would never know. Moving swiftly around the bulky frame, he ran his dexterous fingers around the edges, trying to find a tiny space to lever the back off.  
"Not again," a voice huffed, surprising him. Popping his head around the frame, seeing he was alone, Sherlock caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The other Dr John Watson was peering into their living room, bemused.  
"Ah, hello young man," he greeted, seeing Sherlock.  
"Hello, Dr Watson. All alone today?"  
"Yes. Holmes is off chasing some lead or other, that he thinks will shed some light on this wonderful mirror."  
Sherlock watched the kindly face break into a fond smile. A smile he was used to seeing on his John. He wondered if his beloved would look like this man when he was older.  
"Did you deduce how to make it work?" Watson asked.  
"Not that I'm aware. I was about to take the back off, to see if I could figure it out when I heard your voice. Did you touch it?"  
"No, I was just getting ready to go out when I saw the surface moving. Can I ask you a question?"  
"Of course," Sherlock agreed, surprised. Would the Victorian doctor ask about the future? For Victorian he was, given his clothing and mannerisms.  
"Holmes mentioned he spoke to the other Watson. He said that you two are openly lovers. Is that true? Is it possible for society to accept two men loving one another?" There was such wistful longing in the man's voice that Sherlock's heart clenched.  
"Well, a lot of people still don't accept it but it's not punishable by law to be homosexual anymore."  
"What I wouldn't give, to live where you are. To hold Holmes' hand in public without fear of retribution. A golden time indeed."  
Sherlock wanted to rant about all the things that were wrong with the world but seeing the joy and hope his simple statement had brought, he couldn't do it.  
"Something like that," he murmured instead. As he watched happiness spread over the doctor's face, thick tendrils of fog slid across the mirror's surface.  
"No! Nonono", Sherlock shouted, scabbling closer to the frame, hands running over the carvings, desperately searching for a way to keep the image. He had so many more questions to ask, so many things he longed to know. The doctor's face vanished into the thick mist which cleared suddenly, now showing only the living room and Sherlock's own reflection.


	4. Flash Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the Hell happened?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honest, I'm doing my best to keep going. Life keeps getting in the way =)  
> Comments are lovely so make me smile by leaving some =)  
> Enjoy

Watson reclined in his chair, dressed only in open shirt and trousers. Holmes lay on the sofa wearing just a dressing gown, cigarette dangling from his fingers.  
"I cannot work it out, Watson. It has been two weeks since the mirror showed us our other selves. I have found no way to make it work, no switch or lever. Whilst I admit it has me frustrated, I will not give up."  
"I never thought for a moment you would, my dear chap," Watson smiled fondly. "I, however, have an early start tomorrow. To bed I go. And if you should come to bed, no cold feet."  
Holmes, eyes heavy lidded and sated, lifted his face for Watson's kiss, smiling softly as his doctor disappeared into the bedroom. Turning back to his contemplation of the mirror, the private consulting detective frowned at his reflection. He sat in that same place, smoking, until the sun rose through the early morning fog. As the first clear rays fell through the window, the surface of the mirror rippled alarmingly then still. Holmes leapt to his feet instantly, examining the glass. Nothing had changed, no images of the other Holmes and Watson appeared. Utterly frustrated, Holmes stormed into the bedroom. Watson was sitting in bed, eyes still heavy with sleep, hair scattered messily across his forehead. Holmes softened at the sight, dropping a kiss to his lover's lips before turning to get dressed.  
"I must go for a walk, clear my head and think on this mirror."  
"Of course," Watson murmured, slowly getting dressed himself. "I'll be gone when you return. Try not to get injured while I'm not here."  
"I shall proceed with the utmost care. Have a good day, dear chap."  
***  
Sherlock scowled at the mirror, seriously considering shooting the bloody thing and putting it out of both their miseries. He'd been up all night puzzling over it, wondering if the other Sherlock was doing the same. He shouted for John, remembering too late that his boyfriend was at work. Stamping into the kitchen, he made a cup of tea before settling in front of the mirror again. When the sun had hit the glass earlier it had rippled. Not too much but enough to cause the luminous eyed man gazing at his own reflection to jump up, expecting to see the other Holmes or Watson. Nothing. Slamming out of the flat 20 minutes later, Sherlock went to the Yard, annoyed Lestrade for a few hours, had a very satisfying argument with Anderson then dashed home to wait for John. The blond doctor arrived home half an hour after the detective, take away in hand, sighing when he saw the familiar look of disgruntled pouting.  
"Any luck, love?" he asked, kissing the unruly black curls.  
"Nothing. Maybe we should just get rid of it?"  
"You're voluntarily giving up on a mystery? Who are you and where is my Sherlock?"  
Scowling at his lover, the lanky man spun back to the ebony framed looking glass. He couldn't work it out and it was driving him insane. He wished he still had his cigarettes but John had shredded them, forbidding Sherlock from smoking by gazing at him, soulfully, telling him it was because he loved him and wanted Sherlock around for a long time. How could he resist those eyes?  
"Bloody thing!" he snarled, hand pressed against the glass.  
"You'll ruin it," John scolded, handing Sherlock his Chinese. "You've already left greasy hand prints all over it."  
"Good," the dark haired man grumbled childishly. Waving his hands, about to begin an epic rant, a stray noodle splattered on the mirror.  
"Try to be more careful, Sherlock," John sighed. He reached up, fingers skating over the glass, to flick the noodle away. As his index finger touched the surface of the mirror there was a blinding flash, a crash like thunder then deafening silence.  
"John!" Sherlock cried, blinking rapidly. When his vision cleared he found himself alone in the flat.  
***  
"Please, dear heart, eat something. Mrs Hudson made this for you," Watson pleaded, bringing a dish of curried chicken to Holmes. He was curled in his chair, glowering at the mirror. His earlier excursions had shed no light on the origins of the extraordinary piece. He was beginning to think that it would remain a mystery.  
"How can I eat when I need to concentrate on this?" he snapped, arm flailing out to brush Watson away. He knocked the bowl from his companion's hands, spilling chicken across the carpet and onto the mirror.  
"Holmes!" Watson complained. "Now I shall have to clean that up."  
Seeing the look of deep disappointment on his beloved's face, Holmes apologised quickly, rushing to get a cloth. When he returned Watson had cleared up most of it but the mirror was still streaked with sauce. With a rueful sigh, the doctor reached out to wipe one smear away. The moment his finger touched the glass there was a flash, like lightening, and a thunderous crash. Holmes fell back with a surprised cry but rushed to where Watson had been, heart in his throat. If the man was injured... The detective couldn't bear the thought.  
"Watson? Watson!"  
The doctor was gone.


	5. Lost in the Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only by working together would they get their loved ones back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a bit worried about this for a while but it seems to be going quite well.  
> Comments keep me inspired so please do =)  
> Enjoy

"Give him back to me, you bastard thing!" Sherlock shouted, thumping the ebony frame. He'd studied every inch, probed every nook, shouted, sworn and threatened the ivy carved looking glass for an hour but it had made no difference. John was still gone. Resting his head against the glass, black curls smashed flat, Sherlock fought back tears of frustration.  
"Please give him back," he sighed.  
"What have you done with Watson?"  
Sherlock jerked back, staring into the cold, harsh face of the other Holmes.  
"What? I haven't done anything with him! Have you seen John?"  
Holmes stared hard at the younger man, fighting down his concerns for his companion.  
"No, I'm afarid not."  
"What happened? To Watson I mean?"  
"Watson touched the mirror, there was a lightening flash, a crash of thunder and he was gone. I have tried all I can think of but nothing has succeeded in bringing him back."  
"That's almost exactly what happened to John. God, what is this damned thing?" Sherlock began pacing, a nervous habit that John always endured with fond exasperation. Sherlock knew he had to make a hard decision. He locked all the fear and panic he felt over John's disappearence in his heart, letting his logical brain take over. It was his long standing defence mechenism.  
"Have you been investiaging the mirror?" Holmes asked suddenly.  
"Yes. The antique's dealer we bought it from said it had been found in an old house and he bought it cheap at auction. He knew nothing else about it apart from it was Oriental and old. Have you found anything?"  
"A little more than you, yes. The man who gave us the mirror had bought it from a woman who was selling off her brother's things. He'd travelled all over the world, collected all sorts of artefacts. He brought the mirror back from the Orient. When I went to see the woman, she told me that her brother talked about the mirror all the time. He said it was magical, that it could show the viewer their past and future selves. His family thought he'd contracted a brain fever so they had him commited to an asylum. As they took him away, he kept shouting about not letting past and future touch."  
Sherlock paced faster, tugging at his hair, brain whirling as he put all the information together.  
"I don't believe in magic but there is something I can't explain about this bloody thing," he huffed.  
"The Orient is a mystical place," Holmes stated. "Perhaps they did, indeed, create such a thing."  
"If that's the case," Sherlock said slowly. "Then the ravings of the original owner make a little more sense. The past and future must not touch. John and your Watson must have touched the mirror at the same moment."  
Holmes leant close to the glass, eyes full of pain and worry.  
"Then where are they?"

***  
John blinked several times, letting the spots that were dancing in front of his eyes clear. Banging the heel of his hand against the side of his head, shaking it to dispel the ringing, he looked around. All he could see, in every direction, was fog. It eddied and swirled, cloaking everything.  
"What the fuck?"  
"Hello? Is there someone there?"  
John spun round, searching for the source of that voice. In the distance he saw a figure wandering through the mist. He began to jog towards figure, surprised when it solidified into the shape of Dr Watson.  
"John!" The doctor exclaimed. "What the devil are you doing here?"  
"I wish I knew. One minute I was in our living room, the next I'm here., wherever here is."  
"I'm sure Holmes and your Sherlock will figure it out," Watson smiled confidently. "Two minds, such as theirs, will have us out of here in no time."  
"If they don't kill each other," John muttered. A deep, coughing roar echoed around them, shockingly loud in the still air.  
"What on Earth was that?" Watson demanded, glancing around.  
"I'm not sure but I don't think we should stick around to find out."  
"You may be right there. We must find somewhere safe."  
The roar came again, louder, closer.  
"Hurry, Sherlock," John whispered.


	6. Dazed and Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was getting harder by the minute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long since I posted. I messed up both wrists so writing was nigh on impossible.  
> Comments are always welcome so please do =)  
> Enjoy

Watson glanced nervously around him, wishing he had his old service revolver with him. They had heard the roar several times but it had been slowly moving away from them. John had dropped into a solider's stance everytime the noise had reverberated around the foggy landscape. Watson felt a surge of companionship for this man who shared his name.  
"Tell me about your life," Watson asked quietly, when they stopped to rest.  
"Not much to tell. I trained as a doctor, joined up, got shot and was invalided home. I met Sherlock, we started living together, a year later we became a couple."  
"How long ago was that?"  
"About three years. Three very action packed years."  
"Oh yes," Watson chuckled. "There is never a dull moment around a Holmes. It's part of the charm I think. It is certainly what drew me to him. That and he's a stunning man."  
They sat in silence for a few minutes, each thinking of his Sherlock, wondering if they were any closer to finding the doctors.  
"Right," John said, rubbing his hands together. "We can figure this out. We're both intelligent men. We made it through medical school and the Army, for God's sake."  
Watson nodded, glancing around the misty enviroment, eyes searching for some hint of where they were or how to get out.  
"I touched the mirror, there was noise and light and then I was here," Watson muttered. "What was different? I had touched the mirror before without incident."  
"And me," John chimed in. "Sherlock got a noodle on the glass so I picked it off..."  
"I was cleaning curried chicken off the mirror that Holmes had spilled. Perhaps we touched it at the same moment?"  
John nodded, a vague idea forming in the blond's mind. A dim shape shot across his line of sight, something long and powerfully built.  
"Shit," he hissed, dropping to the ground, pulling the older man with him. "Whatever that thing is, it's getting bolder. We need to find a defencible position and soon."  
"But where?" Watson asked, alarmed. "There's nothing here."  
***  
Holmes puffed his pipe angrily, dense clouds of reeking smoke choking the room. He felt a pang of despair that there was no Watson to complain about the smell. The ache of his missing companion was a sharp but brief pain before he turned back to the problem at hand. He had followed every lead, every clue to the mirror's origins but nothing had come of it. Examining the ebony frame, letting his long sensitive fingers trail over the beautifully carved vines, the detective tried to think of something, anything that would bring his doctor home. The surface of the glass went black suddenly, a hollow emptiness that reflected nothing. The darkness lightened slowly, revealing a flat, grey landscape. As he watched, two small figures dash across his line of sight, pursued by something long, dark and with the look of a predator.  
"Watson?" Holmes exclaimed, horrified. "Watson!"

Sherlock lowered his knife towards one of the delicate leaves, glass microscope slide held at the ready as he prepared to take a small scraping. Just as the edge of the blade touched the wood, the mirror went black. Jerking back, fearing he'd done some kind of irrepairable damage, Sherlock's luminous eyes were transfixed as the view faded to a foggy grey, empty looking area. He quickly spotted two figures racing across the landscape. But what captured his attention was the thing bounding after them, the obvious predator that was ganing on them. Even as he watched, paralysed with fear, the shape leapt, slamming into the rear figure. Sherlock recognised his John, the love of his life, pinned under a leonine looking creature.  
"John!" he shouted, slamming both hands against the mirror. The creature's head lashed down and the image vanished.  
"NO!"


End file.
